


A Study in Ethology

by LiraDonne



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Sherlock lies, Zoo, fully clothed sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiraDonne/pseuds/LiraDonne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ethology: the scientific study of animal behavior.</p><p>John takes Sherlock to the zoo for the first time, after which Sherlock decides to conduct a little experiment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Ethology

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sherlocksucks](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sherlocksucks).



> This fic was written for the August/September 2012 Johnlock Challenges fic exchange. Sherlocksucks (on Tumblr) requested the following: "Mature rating. John takes Sherlock to the zoo. It is Sherlock’s first time. The being in this animalstic atmosphere for the first time somehow intrigues and unlock’s Sherlock’s primordial instincts, and it is this that motivates him to make his first move on John."
> 
> I cheated a little bit, as you'll see, but I hope sherlocksucks likes it anyway!
> 
> Warnings: crack, no Beta, no Britpick, OOC-ness for the purposes of humor and porn, dub-con (sort of?) within an established relationship, and overall ridiculousness.
> 
> This fic is not meant to be taken seriously, but you're allowed to do so if you want.

When John came home from the clinic one day, clutching two pieces of paper in his hand, Sherlock knew immediately that something was off. Hoping to avoid talking about it, he leaned over his microscope and pretended not to notice that John had entered the flat.

“Ah, blood samples.” Damn. So much for that plan. “Experiment or research for a case?”

“Phone.” Best if John wasn’t aware whose blood was on their kitchen table. Distraction usually worked.

John rolled his eyes and sighed, but obeyed, pulling Sherlock’s mobile from his jacket pocket and dropping it in Sherlock’s outstretched hand. “Case, then?”

Ah, so John thought Sherlock was texting Lestrade a discovery that would help lead to a criminal’s capture. He couldn’t be more wrong. “Something like that,” Sherlock answered vaguely, hoping that would put an end to the discussion.

“Right.” John cleared his throat. “Well, I thought you might like to know that a patient gave me two free tickets to the zoo today. Said her husband bought them, but now that her son was sick, she couldn’t take him, and the tickets expire after today. She was trying to pawn them off to anyone who would listen, but no one else wanted them! Can you believe it?”

John was grinning—positively _giddy_ with excitement, just over the prospect of seeing some animals eat and sleep.

“Seems like a perfectly credible story, if that’s what you mean.” Honestly, didn’t John understand that Sherlock was busy? How many times did Sherlock need to brush him off?

“You don’t seem very excited,” said John, deflated. Sherlock could tell without looking that his shoulders were slumped and the smile had faded from his mouth. As boring as this all was, as unimportant as it all was compared to what Sherlock was dealing with, he hated to make John upset.

Sherlock looked up to John and was assaulted by a pair of deep blue puppy eyes. _That’s cheating_ , he thought.

“I simply fail to see a reason for excitement. Where is the appeal?”

“Oh, come on. Loads of the animals they have at zoos are wild, exotic. You’re not likely to see monkeys and giraffes wandering about London! Going to a zoo is the only way you’ll ever see them up close.”

“I’ve seen animal videos on the internet, John. You’ve showed them to me yourself. That’s a three, at most. No point leaving the flat for anything less than an eight.”

“You said seven, last time. No point leaving the flat for anything less than a seven, no point getting dressed for less than a six.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes to suppress his pride that John _remembered_. “My point remains.”

“No, it doesn’t. Who said a zoo is a three? I say it’s a nine. You _have_ to go.”

“Internet, John. We have it.”

“Not the same. You can’t invoke all of your senses through the internet. It’s like trying to investigate a crime scene without being able to touch the calluses on a victim’s hands, smell the lingering traces of poison on their lips.” John smiled, clearly proud of his ability to relate this to something Sherlock cared about.

“I really have no interest in smelling animal faeces, thank you very much. Don’t want to touch it either, for that matter.” And just like that, John’s smile faded. Again. Damn it all.

“What if I promise to give you a blow job?”

Tempting. In the month since they’d started dating, John only attempted to suck Sherlock off three times. In each case, he’d quickly grow frustrated by his own teeth, his stubborn gag reflex, and the difficult time he had coordinating his mouth and hand movements. Sherlock tried to assure John that even the shoddiest technique was effective if it were coming from the right person (just the _thought_ of John’s warm, wet mouth was almost enough to finish the job), but John didn’t accept that. He said he’d rather use his hand (or thighs or arse) to get Sherlock off than risk biting off the end of his prick or vomiting during sex. So the lure of a rare blow job was enticing, definitely.

But . . . “As much as I’d love for you to practice and get over your irrational fear of biting me accidentally, I _do actually_ have better things to do than waste half a day in the presence of birds and snakes.”

“Come on, Sherlock. You get to observe the animals first-hand. You _live_ for observation. You can’t pass up this opportunity. It’s free, it’s just this once, and there will be other people there to observe, as well. Maybe you can . . . I don’t know, deduce what types of people are most likely to stick their fingers through the bars in an animal’s cage.”

“Don’t be absurd, John. Guests would never be allowed that close to an animal’s cage if it were just a series of _bars_. Surely, there would be a rope or something to keep small children away. Parents are so uptight about wanting their children to keep all ten fingers. . . .” Pity. Sherlock rarely had the opportunity to observe children’s body parts. He was usually limited to adults, now that science had minimized children’s death rates.

“God, Sherlock, do you _hear_ yourself? I’m sure your parents were the same way. You and Mycroft were too smart to put your fingers near the mouths of animals, even in a petting zoo, but—”

“No.”

“What? Are you saying that you and Mycroft . . . _did_ put your hands—?”

“Don’t be absurd, John. We would never go to a petting zoo.”

“Never? Not even when you were kids? Not even once?”

Ugh, repetition. Boring. “No, never. Are you aware how many diseases animals carry? They’re positively filthy. You see, John, many animals are covered in something called _fur_ , and antibacterial soap is terribly rare in the animal kingdom. Did you know? Most animals don’t even _shower_.”

“Alright, yes, yes, I get the idea. No petting zoos. But surely you did go to a regular zoo. Just once.”

“Of course not. I was far more interested in insects—especially bees—than hippos and zebras. And if I’d had any questions, Mummy would have directed me to our library.”

“So you’ve never been to a zoo. Never in your life.”

“I did just say that, didn’t I?”

Before Sherlock could register what was happening—and that’s saying a lot; his mind was so quick to register every tiny detail of everything, all the time—he was being hauled to his feet and manhandled into his coat.

“Wha—?” he managed to cry as steady hands pushed him toward the door.

“We’re going to the zoo!” said John with defiant certainty.

And that was the end of that.

~

Upon arriving, Sherlock dashed out of the cab and left John to pay the fare, because if he was going to be dragged somewhere against his will, he sure wasn’t going to pay for any of it.

John caught up with him at the main gate and hardly even looked angry as he led Sherlock through the gates, assuring the ticket-taker that his friend was _fine_ , really, just having a bad week. Sherlock turned his head away to hide his grin; John was such a bad liar.

Ignoring John’s comment about exploring the zoo using a path which would let them pass by all of the exhibits so as not to miss anything, Sherlock made a bee-line for the bug exhibit.

“Sherlock, wait! Hang on! You’re going right past the Reptile House!” Sherlock could hear him jogging to keep up. Adorable. Did John understand how cute he was in his tiny little jumpers with his little stubby legs? No one would ever guess that behind those deep blue puppy dog eyes was a soldier with strong morals and impeccable aim—a soldier who would defend himself and those he loved against any threat before he worried about consequences. It was hard to believe that such a good man willingly associated himself with a giant child like Sherlock.

“Bees, John! The bugs are in the far back corner.”

John was keeping pace now, but Sherlock could see him frowning out of the corner of his eye. “Bees? Sherlock, er . . . bees are native to . . . well, a lot of places in the world. I’m not sure that they’ll be prime candidates for a _zoo_ , especially given the fact that they tend to live in large hives and could sting guests if—”

“BEES,” Sherlock interrupted. He hurried along, secretly pleased with the ease with which John followed him. A perfect companion. Sherlock would have to keep him.

~

Sherlock made no less than three circuits of the bug exhibit before turning to John and frowning.

“This has been a waste of a trip,” he said with a pout which he’d later deny.

“I did try to warn you,” said John, failing to stifle his I-told-you-so grin. “But no, the day has not been wasted. There are loads of other things here—you know, things that _can’t_ be found in a typical garden?”

“Bees are disappearing, John. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to spot them in nature. Surely, a zoo of any prestige would want to conserve the population before they disappear altogether and vegetation begins to suffer.”

John rolled his eyes. “Look, if you behave—and _only_ if you behave—then we’ll do research when we get home, okay? In addition to your. . . .” He paused, blushed, and glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “In addition to your _other_ reward,”  he said, rather than taking the risk of saying “blow job” out loud. “We’ll find out what’s being done to preserve the bee population and we’ll plan a trip to see them. We’ll visit a hive, and you can get stung as much as you like. Just . . . try to enjoy yourself while we’re here, okay?”

Sherlock’s face lifted and he straightened up, increasing his height a good inch and a half. “Very well,” he said. “Take me to the not-bees.”

~

It was only a matter of minutes before Sherlock found himself manhandled into the Animal Adventure exhibit. His protests were only barely cut off by the idea of being allowed to research bees without repercussion. Embarrassed to be amongst so many children (they were so loud, perpetually sticky, _tiny_ ), Sherlock begrudgingly let John shove them both into a plastic bubble peeking up through an area full of meerkats, aardvarks, porcupines, and things Sherlock had never of before (unacceptable—he’d have to steal John’s laptop later and learn what, exactly, a “coatis” or a “kune kune pig” was; he simply couldn’t bear to be humiliated like this again).

Sherlock wanted to complain about how ridiculous it was to crouch inside a plastic bubble, mere inches away from wildlife who had no interest in humans, but John shushed him. They stood there, silent, still, waiting.

And then a little meerkat caught Sherlock’s eye. In did a double take, as if it were confused by what it was seeing. Reminded of John’s presence at his side, Sherlock remained still. Blinked. Waited.

The meerkat stood and tilted its head. Considered for a moment. Walked right up to the bubble that Sherlock and John were occupying, sniffed (a pointless attempt with the plastic between them, but the adorable creature wasn’t to be blamed for trying), and continued to stare at Sherlock. Then it put a little paw up against the bubble.

“I think it likes you,” John whispered, the smile evident in his voice.

“Why is it just . . . standing there?” Sherlock was beginning to get creeped out.

“He wants you to acknowledge him,” John teased. “Put your hand up to the bubble.”

Slowly, Sherlock raised his hand and pressed it against the (filthy) interior of the bubble, directly opposite from the meerkat’s tiny paw. Despite the absurdity of the gesture, the meerkat seemed pleased. It paused for a moment, just staring, keeping its paw against the bubble and considering something. Then let out a shriek, blinked at Sherlock again, and scrambled away.

Sherlock dropped his hand and let it fall to his side, overcome with something which was definitely not disappointment.

“Oh,” he said.

“It’s alright,” said John. “Don’t take it personally. He’s probably just hungry.”

They stayed and watched for a few more minutes, verifying John’s theory (Sherlock perked up a bit at the fact that the meerkat wasn’t upset with him, and was just genuinely hungry), before moving on.

~

Sherlock soon made a habit of criticizing the signs in front of the exhibits for being (alternatively) blindingly obvious (“Of _course_ anteaters use their tails as umbrellas! How else would they keep dry?) and utterly fascinating (“Flamingoes aren’t naturally pink? Is that true, John? John! Imagine if you changed colour based on the food _you_ ate! You’d be tea-coloured!).

They got more than a few stares, for some reason. It was hardly Sherlock’s fault that they weren’t sufficiently interested in the importance of accurate and interesting signs.

Sherlock almost forgot about his promise to behave when a five-year-old told him that his coat made him look like a giraffe. John had to drag him away before Sherlock could spit out a comment about coats doing very little to visually lengthen one’s neck.

~

It wasn’t long before they came to the gorilla exhibit. They’d already seen a few primates (spider monkeys, Bolivian squirrel monkeys, gibbons), but the gorillas were more calm and human-like. They didn’t swing enthusiastically from branches, throwing fruit and feces with the energy of small children overdosed on sugar. Instead, the gorillas sat and observed.

Sherlock instantly connected to them.

“John,” he said, pulling absently at John’s jacket sleeve. “Look at that one.”

“Yes, Sherlock. I see. He’s . . . sitting there, doing nothing.”

“No. He’s _observing_.” Didn’t John understand? These gorillas were smart. They weren’t dazing out, ignoring their surroundings. They were _processing_. Sherlock would be willing to bet that, after the zoo closed, the gorillas gathered in a circle and talked about the people they’d seen that day. He knew gorillas didn’t speak English, but they were capable of communicating. Genetically, they were remarkably similar to humans.

Sherlock watched in fascination as the gorilla he’d been staring at went over to a tree, ripped off a piece of bark, and chewed on it absently.

“John,” he said again. “He’s brushing his teeth.”

“Hm, you might be right.” John paused for a moment, tilting his head to the side and considering. “Or he’s just bored and wants something to do with his teeth. Like a human chewing gum.”

“No,” Sherlock insisted. “He’s brushing his teeth.”

“Okay,” said John dismissively. “If you say so.” He walked around a different side of the exhibit to read a sign.

Sherlock knew that John was enjoying himself. He could see it in the smile John tried to hide by biting his lips and turning his face away, by the way John’s eyes opened wide to take in the details of these magnificent animals in such close proximity to humans. John’s enjoyment was coming out for all the wrong reasons. Sherlock had to fix that.

As if on cue, Sherlock heard a burst of laughter and a few gasps break out from the group of people next to him. Confused, he looked over to them, followed their gazes, and _saw_ : off to the left, about thirty feet from the gorilla Sherlock had been watching, there was another male. Unlike the first male, this one’s actions could not be mistaken for something else. His motions were universal. Common. Human.

He was masturbating.

Sherlock rushed over to John to tell him the good news.

“John, look! That one over there is _masturbating!_ ”

“God, Sherlock. I . . . can see that, thanks.” He was averting his eyes. Unacceptable.

“You’re not watching,” said Sherlock with a frown and more than a hint of disappointment.

John sighed his weary, are-we-really-doing-this- _now_ sigh. “Right, but I don’t particularly need to watch. I saw, I’m aware, and now I’m allowing the poor guy some privacy.”

“Don’t be absurd, John. There are twenty other people happily watching his every move. It’s rather late for privacy.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to watch a gorilla masturbate!” John said, right as a mother and her two young children passed by the exhibit. The woman shot John a horrified glance, covered her children’s ears, and hurried away before John could do any more damage. “Jesus,” he said. “Now I’ve scared some innocent children. Can we just . . . leave the gorilla alone? Lead by example, refrain from letting some strangers think we’re into bestiality, and just—God, you’re not _actually_ into—”

“No, John,” Sherlock assured him. “I have no interest in having sex with animals.” Honestly, it was like John wasn’t paying attention. Couldn’t he see? This magnificent creature was pleasuring himself unabashedly, completely uncaring about the fact that people were standing just a few feet away, _watching_. Exhibitionism was typically frowned upon in society these days, for whatever reason. Sherlock heard that you could even get arrested for having sex in public! It was completely unfair that this gorilla got to touch itself in front of an audience without fearing legal repercussions.

“You’re missing the point,” said Sherlock. “The gorilla is _masturbating_. Isn’t that fascinating? It’s so human, yet so unashamed! Right in front of a dozen people and all of his little gorilla peers, he proudly touches himself. Oh, I wonder what he’s thinking about. Gorillas don’t have porn, of course, but perhaps he’s remembering a past sexual encounter? Or maybe someone here has caught his eye! Quick, John, do something a gorilla might find sexy!”

The next think Sherlock knew, he was being pulled away from the gorilla exhibit and toward the exit door.

“John, no! Wait! I’m sorry, I’ll behave. I promise. I want to research the bees, John. Let me just go back and see if the gorilla reaches completion and then we can leave. Please just—ooh! John, that sign says we can adopt an animal! I’ve always wanted a pet. How do you feel about inviting a gorilla into our home, John?”

John slapped a hand over Sherlock’s mouth and continued to wordlessly pull him from the zoo until they were safely outside the exit, and the nearest humans were a very reasonable fifty feet away. Without another ticket, Sherlock couldn’t get back in.

John sighed and released him. “You do realize,” he said as he ran a hand exasperatedly through his slightly-overgrown hair, “that you really shouldn’t talk about porn or masturbation in the presence of other people— _especially_ children—and using animals to talk about those things just makes people think you’re into bestiality?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Dull. “Ridiculous, John. I was merely observing from a scientific point of view.”

“And from everyone else’s point of view, you were ‘ _merely_ ’ being a big creep.”

“Fine,” said Sherlock, because he saw that John was going to be unnecessarily stubborn about this. “What do I do now? You’ve ruined my observational experiment.”

“Let me put it this way, Sherlock—and I’m not going to repeat this, so listen closely. One, we are not adopting any pets—no cats, dogs, fish, gorillas, or anything else you might think of. That is not up to negotiation. Two, that’s not what the sign meant. You don’t get to take the animal home. ‘Adopting’ it just means you help pay for some of its food and whatever money’s left over goes to conservation projects. Three, you really need to stop using _science_ as an excuse to parade around like a child, ignoring basic rules of common decency like _not talking about porn in front of children_. And four, you should really listen to me when I tell you to stop acting up, because there was a security officer two yards away from us, and he was about a half a second away from arresting us on charges of being bloody annoying.”

Sherlock felt like a child being scolded by a tired parent—a parent who didn’t understand that ‘being bloody annoying’ wasn’t actual grounds for arrest. And John wouldn’t care about inconsequential things like possible jail time if he just _understood_ the fact that this experiment was a big breakthrough on human behaviour, as revealed by its animal counterparts. But John had made up his mind, and it was too late to resume his experiment; even if he shelled out the money to go back into the zoo, and even if he managed to escape the notice of the zoo security, the gorilla had probably stopped masturbating by now, either having achieved climax or given up the matter entirely.

So Sherlock said, “Fine, let’s go home” in a voice that radiated tampered enthusiasm, but his mind was far from finished with the topic at hand.

~

It wasn’t difficult to catch John off his game. Sherlock played innocent for a few days, made sure to label the bloody ears before putting them in the designated Experiments drawer in the fridge, and didn’t complain when John accidentally broke Sherlock’s favourite Erlenmeyer flask.

“John,” said Sherlock as John yawned and stretched. He’d just gotten back from a double shift at the clinic and was eager to go to bed. His mind would be less sharp than usual. “How would you feel about helping me with one of my experiments?”

It said a lot that John didn’t immediately cringe or back down. “What exactly would I have to do?”

Fantastic. He was half agreed already. And he did _owe_ Sherlock a blowjob.

“Just go for a walk with me,” Sherlock lied. “That’s it. Won’t take long.” Well, it didn’t _need_ to take very long, but it might. Small detail. John wouldn’t mind.

John hesitated, weighing his options, but ultimately had a hard time objecting to a nice, calm walk through London on a cool summer evening with his boyfriend. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

~

They strolled without thought or direction, just walking down the street with pleasant expressions and no expectations.

John started off by shooting Sherlock suspicious glances whenever he thought Sherlock wouldn’t notice, but the lack of anything weird (crime scenes, abandoned places) soon put his mind at ease.

Not long after Sherlock noticed that change, he grasped John’s hand. Neither of them was particularly fond of PDA, but this was an integral part of the experiment. Luckily, John didn’t object; instead, he linked his fingers with Sherlock’s and gave them a pleasant squeeze.

After a few minutes of feigning casualness, Sherlock turned his hand slightly and used his little finger to gently stroke and tease John’s wrist—one of his key erogenous zones.

Shortly thereafter, they passed a shop which was playing music, and Sherlock hummed along, well aware of John’s thoughts on the timbre of his voice. Sherlock was almost getting to the chorus when John piped in.

“You’re humming. Why are you humming? You hate any music that isn’t designed to be played on a violin. And how do you even _know_ this song?”

Sherlock just smiled. “I’ve heard it before,” was all he would say. “There, you’ve learned something new today.” Then: fake surprise, hurt. “Why, would you rather I refrained from humming along? I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“No! No, it’s . . . fine. Just unexpected.” Even in the dark, Sherlock could see John’s face flush.

~

Over the next ten minutes, Sherlock pulled out all of the other tricks he knew. He took John briefly through the park to appeal to the calming effects of nature, he led them past a dog park to allow John to see owners being affectionate to their pets, and he very kindly refrained from taking John past the scene of a gruesome murder from a decade ago, before they’d met—one of Sherlock’s favourite cases.

When at least Sherlock decided that John was ready, he brought up the real reason for their walk.

“John, I’m sorry for saying things which were deemed socially inappropriate at the zoo. I didn’t mean to offend you or anyone else. However, the experience did open my eyes to an interesting fact.

“As you may have noticed, humans and primates are very closely related, genetically speaking. Apart from language and some physical differences, we’re really very much alike. Yet, the law prevents humans from doing certain things which are allowed in the animal kingdom. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of what example made me aware of that disappointing fact.

“More importantly, I am interested in the way that animals fail to care who’s watching them. They do what they want—eat, sleep, procreate, defecate—without worrying about their audience. I have therefore decided that I need to analyse how humans react when they’re made to perform subjectively private actions in the vicinity of other humans.”

John stared for a moment, incredulous. “So you want us to eat, sleep and . . . do those other things, all while other people are watching? Sherlock, I don’t—”

“No, of course not. Not _all_ of those things.”

“Oh, well . . . great. For a moment, I thought you wanted us to shag in public!” John laughed.

Sherlock remained silent.

“Oh, God,” said John when it became clear that Sherlock wasn’t contradicting him. “You . . . _no_ , Sherlock. That is not on. We’re not going to risk getting arrested for public indecency, thank you very much.”

“John, just think about it for a moment. We needn’t perform in the middle of a crowd or anything like that. Maybe a back alley, somewhere dark and out of the way. I’m wearing my long coat, see? Just a quick mutual handjob so I can assess the psychological implications of doing it where we could _potentially_ get caught. We won’t, though; I’ve already looked at Lestrade’s records and there are no cops on duty in this area between now and eleven o’clock. We’ve got a solid . . .” (he checked his watch) “thirty-seven minutes!” He grinned broadly, proud that he’d thought all of this through. There were no flaws in this plan.

Until John turned and started walking back the way they’d come.

“No!” cried Sherlock, quickly catching up with him, taking him by the shoulders, and spinning him around. “John, please. Just this once, I promise. If we get caught, I’ll owe you a huge favour. Whatever you want. I just need to test this, and clearly you’re the only one I can ask, since we’re together.” _And since I’ve never wanted anyone else this way. No one but you_.

“I don’t know, Sherlock. If we get cau—ah!” John’s protests were cut off by Sherlock pulling him in, grabbing his arse with both hands at the same moment that his teeth scraped right behind John’s ear. “ _Sherlock_ ,” he tried to say, pointing out that he was being groped in the middle of the sidewalk, but it came out as a desperate sigh.

Grinning widely at his victory, Sherlock took him by the hand and dragged him into a nearby alley. There, in the shadows and out of the high-traffic area, they were almost entirely out of sight. Just to make sure, Sherlock shoved John’s back against the brick and leaned forward so their fronts were pressed together from knee to chest. His coat was splayed open, covering both of them; between that and the low light, no one would see anything, even if they looked.

Not one to waste any time, Sherlock pressed his mouth immediately to John’s and made quick work of easing his tongue inside. His hands slid up and down the length of John’s chest as he ran his tongue over John’s teeth, gums, soft palate—a thorough examination of every surface he could reach, carefully catalogued and added to the information on John which he’d already stored. That kind of information could never be deleted from his mind palace; it was too important.

John was putting up a poor fight. His hands were tugging Sherlock closer, his breaths already ragged, his face hot and flushed. Sherlock was pressed so close that he could feel John’s cock coming to life inside his trousers.

Sherlock wanted this so badly that he was already there, already hard and aching and _wanting_. He unabashedly ground his straining erection against John’s stomach, seeking friction in whatever form he could find it. He let his mouth trail away from John’s nipping possessive trails across that appealingly stubbled jawline and down John’s neck. When he reached John’s clavicle, he used his right hand to pull the shirt collar to the side and sucked a deep purple bruise into sensitive flesh. At the same time, his left hand pinched a nipple through John’s shirt.

It had the desired effect. “ _Ung!_ ” John cried, having lost the ability to form sentences. “Go on. Go go go.”

 _Finally_. Sherlock licked a trail back up John’s neck and found his mouth again while his hands went to work on John’s pesky trouser buttons. When the fabric parted, he shoved a hand down John’s pants and stroked the leaking hardness he found.

“ _Sherlock_ ,” said John, thrusting into Sherlock’s palm, too lost to care that there were people going about their business less than fifty feet away.

 _Perfect_ , thought Sherlock as he unbuttoned the clasps on his own trousers. It was so much better to be out of their tight confines and in the heat of his own hand—but that wasn’t the goal here. Reluctantly, he let go of himself and lined up his hips with John’s, bending slightly so their pricks were lined up just so. He grasped them both in one large hand, using the other to support himself against the brick wall, and _stroked_.

They moaned in unison, John grasping fervently at Sherlock’s shoulders to bring them closer, tighter together.

Sherlock didn’t bother starting off slow. He knew John’s favourite pace, knew the ideal pace to make himself come in as little time as possible, and chose a rhythm halfway between. It was not quite enough, but also too much, and they were sweating and panting and forgetting to be quiet and then Sherlock  ran his palm over the heads and twisted his wrist and he was coming, hard, leaning heavily against John, pinning him between Sherlock and the wall. Sherlock had just enough energy to finish John off, pressing his mouth to John’s to swallow to cries of his own name, before he buried his head in John’s shoulder and just _breathed_.

When Sherlock regained the feeling in his extremities, he reached into his coat pocket and cleaned them up. Luckily, most of their semen had landed on Sherlock’s hand, their cocks, and Sherlock’s clothes; he could easily clean up their skin, and his coat would hide the stains on his shirt and trousers. (Whether he’d ever be able to wear this outfit again without getting hard was a different matter entirely.)

“Got everything you needed, then, for your experiment?” John asked as they zipped themselves up and looked around to make sure no one had any idea what they’d just done. By the look of things, the coat and darkness had worked their magic.

“I don’t know,” said Sherlock with a grin. “We might have to repeat the experiment. I do believe you owe me a blow job.”

**Author's Note:**

> In case you're wondering, I did use a map of the London Zoo as a loose visual reference. It has a few cute pictures which inspired scenes like the meerkat one, so click here if you'd like to check that out:  
> http://www.zsl.org/zsl-london-zoo/visit/zsl-london-zoo-map,1923,AR.html
> 
> And if you can spare a moment, please leave a review! I love constructive criticism, even on silly fics like this.


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